


Beloved

by glacis



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is ambushed and Daniel Jackson is kidnapped by a mysterious party. But by whom? And for what? A different sort of slash story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved

Beloved, a Stargate SG-1 story by Glacis. Rated NC17 for explicit sexuality and language. No copyright infringement intended.

 

P4J305 looked like any other day at work. The MALP was happy, the air was breathable, the DHD was intact. No obvious hostiles.

So much for happy MALPs.

The strike force must have been hiding behind the Gate, pretty unusual strategy, given past experience. Usually hostiles, Goa'uld, Jaffa or native (in the elastic sense of the word), were too frightened or respectful of the event horizon to make such a flanking maneuver. These guys, whoever the hell they were, knew just exactly how far away to stay to keep from becoming Soldier Flambé.

Teal'c saw them first, and felt more than heard Colonel O'Neill's cry of warning behind him. His weapon was already raised, leveled and charging up. But the attackers were too fast, too well trained. Knew precisely what they wanted. Energy flowed from the hand weapons O'Neill had nicknamed 'Zat' guns, and the powerful current pummeling his system set his muscles twitching, rendering him helpless.

All he could do was lie there, teeth gritting, eyes fogging, as three men, Jaffa from the feeling they evoked in his Goa'uld larva, came toward them. Two extended some sort of harnessing device between them, catching Daniel Jackson's spasming body up, separating him from the others and dropping him bodily into a carved cylinder. The third kicked at the three remaining SG-1 team members until they rolled from the steps down into the dirt, then went to join the other two with their captive.

The leader, as the one who kicked them appeared to be, spoke softly to the two carriers, too softly for Teal'c to hear. Then he dialed the device, but Teal'c was unable to see what address was used from his position in the dirt, too caught up in the lingering effects of the energy stun to move. The Stargate came to life, and Teal'c wondered for a moment why they had taken the time to remove the SG-1 team members from harm, then the three attackers and their human cargo disappeared into the watery portal of the Stargate.

By the time they had recovered sufficiently to move, it was too late. Daniel Jackson was gone, and they had no idea who had taken him. Or why.

Daniel was in hell. That could be the only logical explanation for the fact that his muscles were screaming at him, his head was imploding, all he could hear was white noise and all he could see was darkness. Dimly he was aware of being lifted, dumped into some sort of canister that appeared, oddly enough, to be lined with heavily padded silk cushions, and then the faint tinge of motion sickness convinced him that he was being carried someplace. The by-now-normal disassociation of external stimuli that was Gate travel washed over him, causing the symptoms that had begun to dissipate to wash over him again.

He tried very hard not to vomit.

His head was just starting to settle back on his shoulders when the canister was lowered with a thump to what sounded like a stone floor. An echoing voice, backed by the power of a Goa'uld, barked something at the servants who'd carried him. Something about gently, and protection or protected, and heads. Or perhaps hands. It was hard to tell through the ringing in his ears.

Two sets of hands, moving very carefully, cradled his back and legs, lifting him from the canister and standing him in a basically upright position. It helped his head.

Didn't do much for his situation.

He was in a Goa'uld stronghold -- that much was clear from the glyphs engraved in the ostentatious gold-covered walls and the vaguely pyramid-shaped throne room. He automatically counted the Jaffa present (five), the Goa'uld (only one obvious one) and the possible exits (one, with two of the five Jaffa guarding it). Even if his knees hadn't felt like they were made of string cheese, he wouldn't have had a hope in hell of getting out of this one.

Tuning back into the situation at hand, trying very hard not to wonder at the absence of his teammates and hoping against hope that wherever they were, they were alive, he stared at the Goa'uld. Who was staring right back at him. Smiling.

Normally, that would have been reassuring. Except, of course, that there was nothing reassuring about a Goa'uld, unless it was Tok'Ra, and even then Daniel had his doubts. This man was tall, at least four inches taller than his own six one, and broad with it, all muscle, not an ounce of fat that Daniel could see. His head was undoubtedly shaved bald under the Egyptian headdress he wore, gold and turquoise and copper. His face was serene, strong nose, full lips, wide eyes with long lashes, but those eyes glittered, a deep brown that seemed to glow, and not just from the presence of the Goa'uld. His arms and chest glistened with a light sheen of oil, setting the armbands and worked leather off nicely, and clean folds of pure white linen edged in gold fell to his knees, met at the top of his calves by gold ties from the sandals on his feet. He looked like a God come to life.

Whoever the Goa'uld was, he'd been doing it a long time, and he had the pose down pat.

He started down the steps from the throne, and Daniel noticed with peripheral vision that the Jaffa holding him not only bowed, they trembled. So, this one ruled by fear, then. Best to let him start the conversation. Daniel really didn't feel up to unwittingly provoking a round of anthropologist-torture right at the moment.

Stopping directly in front of Daniel, the Goa'uld ignored the Jaffa and reached up with one huge hand to run a forefinger from Daniel's temple to the corner of his mouth. It lingered there for a moment, very warm on his skin, and he stood as still as possible. A hand that size, and with that obvious strength, could crush his windpipe in a second and he couldn't do a damned thing to stop him.

As if reading his mind, the Goa'uld's smile widened and the hand continued, trailing along the side of his jaw down his throat, lingering over his Adam's apple, then tracing down to the hollow of his collarbone, just beneath the collar of his undershirt. The Goa'uld leaned closer, eyes glowing with eerie white light, smile widening further into something feral and predatory. A word was whispered to him, and he was distracted by it, distracted enough that he didn't see the Jaffa on his right inject him with something until the needle retracted from his shoulder. Distracted enough that he almost didn't notice as the world tipped over and turned white.

"Beloved."

What?

Whose?

 

Jack O'Neill was **not** having a good day. His skin hurt (along with every major muscle group and not a few minor ones) from that fucking zat blast. He was still spitting dirt out of his molars from being kicked over the side of the stairs like last week's trash bag. And he really, really hated it when bastards took him by surprise and made off with members of his team.

"Anything further to add, Colonel?" Hammond asked him, the pseudopatient tone letting him know it wasn't the first time the general had asked. He cleared his throat and glanced around the table at the remains of his team.

Sam looked white and pinch-faced, and more than a little pissed. She was pretty protective of Daniel. Teal'c looked impassive, as usual, but there was a gleam in his eye that said, loudly, that he wanted to dismember something. Preferably several somethings, preferably slowly, and preferably the somethings who'd taken their resident civilian.

He could relate. "No, sir," he finally answered. "We went, we got zatted, Danny got snatched, we crawled home with our tails between our legs. I think that about covers it." Frustration and anger leant a harshness out of proportion to the cynicism of the words. Hammond nodded. He, too, could relate.

"Major, do we have any way of tracking the kidnappers?" Back to business. Even if it was useless. Gotta love a leader who doesn't give up.

"Not directly, no, sir. We have been working on a system for tracking residual energy signatures of wormholes after they've been destabilized, and we were able to get back quickly enough to send a probe back to P4J305 that may give us a starting point-"

Sam continued to babble techno, leaving every guy at the table in her dust, but they all nodded encouragingly. Except Teal'c, who didn't move, but sat there waiting for somebody to unleash him and aim him at the enemy. Jack watched Sam's hands move as she went into a realm of theoretical physics that few could understand, knowing that she was their best chance to get Daniel back.

It galled the hell out of him to not be able to do anything. He fingered his own collar, pulling it away from his neck. Him and Teal'c, two Rottweilers, and Sam, their own personal targeting system.

He just hoped it worked. Soon. This whole situation made him itchy.

"Why Daniel?" he finally blurted out, then looked an apology at Sam for interrupting her. She smiled back at him, a little smile with more than a bit of resignation in it. She was used to people tuning her out when she lost them. Which was often.

"Tactical information is a no-go," he continued, into the small silence that had fallen at his exclamation. "If they'd wanted that they'd've grabbed me, or Sam, since we're the military in the bunch. Or Teal'c, but he'd've been tougher to crack." Dark eyes questioned him, and he elaborated a bit. "You know their methods. They were Jaffa, right?" Teal'c nodded. "Then you'd be better at their game than they would, and they'd have a harder time getting you to talk." Another regal nod agreed with him. Jack cocked his head and looked over at Sam. "And if they wanted techie Stargate shi--stuff, and knew enough about our team to target just one of us, they'd've grabbed Sam." She ducked her head and stared at the table. She knew he was right. "So what is it about Daniel?"

Silence all around. Then a babble of suggestions. "Maybe it has something to do with Abydos." "Perhaps they wished to obtain Daniel Jackson's knowledge of other cultures." "Might have something to do with his languages. An interpreter?" "Some kind of hostage thing?" "Alien technology he'd lifted from someplace and somebody wants it back?"

Sam looked around the table and shrugged. "Maybe they just liked the way he looked?"

Jack grimaced. It was as good an explanation as any.

 

The world was fuzzy, but at least it had colors again, and shapes, and sounds, and sensations.

Weird sensations.

Daniel shifted, and realized several things simultaneously.

He was naked.

Lying on what felt like very fine linen sheets on a **huge** bed.

Things were fuzzy because somebody'd taken his glasses away.

His hands were chained to the headboard.

He pulled his right hand toward his chest, and when his fingertips got about level with his nipple the chain on his left wrist began to pull it in the opposite direction. He repeated the experiment with his left hand, and as it got parallel with his left nipple, his right hand was pulled back.

So, he could move his arms enough to keep them from falling asleep, but not enough to actually fiddle with the cuffs. Not that he'd have much luck with these cuffs if he could fiddle with them. The cuffs were finely wrought, thick and solid, with a tiny keyhole, and padded along the inside with what felt like velvet, folded over many times. His skin wasn't in any danger of being cut, but he also wasn't in any danger of getting the damned things open without the key. The chain itself, running from one cuff to the other through a channel in the wood of the headboard that showed no signs of weakness, was solid steel, lightweight but impossible to break.

Putting aside the disturbing questions raised by his nudity, the bed, and the chains on his wrists, he stared around the room. Under other circumstances, it might be considered welcoming, even homey, if one was an Eastern potentate from before the turn of the century. Fine silk draperies hung from the ceilings; the bed, a backless couch, and a couple tables were highly polished, heavy dark wood; the walls were covered in delicately painted tile mosaics. He couldn't make out the subjects of the paintings without his glasses, but the overall impression was calming, rich and luxurious. On a table beside the bed sat a gold tray inlaid with copper. The edging was encrusted with semiprecious gems. It held half a dozen varieties of soft cheese, grapes, strawberries, and a flagon of something that smelled like red wine.

Didn't quite fit with the image he had of the leader of this pack.

"Beloved."

If he hadn't been chained to the bed, they'd've had to scrape him off the ceiling. The big guy from earlier had snuck in while he was trying to figure out if the cheese was brie or edam. Now he stood by the side of the bed, all six foot five and about two hundred fifty pounds of him.

Daniel wasn't afraid to admit when he was intimidated, at least to himself. He wouldn't give the Goa'uld the pleasure.

"Who are you? Why am I here? What do you want?" It came out sounding more like one long word than a series of demanding questions, but at least his voice hadn't cracked. That had to count for something.

"You never once betrayed me," the deep voice continued. Daniel looked searchingly at him.

Nope. Didn't know this one from Adam. Obviously, the man had mistaken him for someone else. He opened his mouth to say so when the big man moved.

Onto the bed.

Onto him.

Opening his mouth was a bad idea, because it gave the guy room to stick his tongue halfway down Daniel's throat. If he could have gagged without choking to death, he would have. Then the oddest thing happened.

His skin started to tingle. Everywhere the other man's skin was touching his. Everywhere the oil on that skin rubbed off onto his own. It was oddly warm, soon becoming almost uncomfortably warm. Eventually the man stopped trying to excavate Daniel's tonsils with his tongue, and Daniel was able to move his jaw far enough to ask a question.

"Hunh?" Okay, it could have been more direct. But the oil was getting **everywhere**. And ... it was starting to itch under the tingle.

"The others are strong warriors, yes, but they would have killed Me, and tried many times to do so." The words were muffled against his neck as the man started nibbling from his earlobe to the end of his collarbone, but Daniel could still make them out. Not that they made any sense. "I heard you cry out for Me when you thought I was dead. You, only you, Beloved, never turned away from Me."

The mouth, busy nibbling teeth and all, was hovering over his right nipple now. When it wasn't talking, the equally busy tongue was circling over his skin, rubbing the oil into him. His skin was twitching under the combination of itching, burning oil and talented tongue.

Well. What a day for new life experiences.

Daniel still didn't know who the hell the guy was, but truth be told, his body wasn't caring much at the moment. He hadn't been touched like this in a very long time, if ever, and his mind was being thoroughly ignored by his nerve endings.

"You could not forget. Even when you tried." The mouth stopped roving over his chest and the head rose, intense dark eyes staring down at him. A huge paw caught his chin, and held his head immobile. "As I could not forget you." A quick, hard kiss that gentled into a long, thorough exploration, and the oil on the other man's mouth was transferred to his own lips. They immediately began to tingle. The man's head rose again, and he licked his lips. "Beloved," he said again, a name, a benediction, a blessing.

Daniel was completely confused, and more turned on than he could remember. Well, there were one or two really intense sexual experiences in the last few years, but he'd been drugged for most of them. And like he'd told Hathor, he really tried not to remember ...

His brain went blank as that mouth closed over an erection he didn't realize he had. Then squeezing fingers, questing tongue and suction stronger than anything he'd ever felt threatened to suck his spine right out through the end of his penis. Daniel thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure. Couldn't be sure of anything, but the fact that he came so hard the world went away. Again.

 

Sam stared at the computer models for the eleven hundredth time and resisted the urge to scream, curse, weep, or drop kick the damned thing into another dimension. It wasn't working.

Once more, she was expected to pull a technological rabbit from the computer hat, and she wanted to, desperately. Daniel was special, as important as any member of her team, but more vulnerable than any of the others, and she felt the same responsibility toward him that the Colonel and Teal'c did. Maybe more so, in her own way. She was a scientist too, she knew what motivated him in a way the men never could. She wanted him back home, where he belonged.

The computer wasn't helping.

Her methodology wasn't just theoretical, it was practically wishful thinking. But it might work, if she could just figure out a way to wrench the mathematical models tracing the course of the wormholes' traces into a logical pattern. It was a little like following ant tracks in a sand dune in the middle of a wind storm. Nearly impossible ... but not quite.

She rubbed her eyes, swigged the last gulp of coffee long since gone cold, and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Staring at the screen, she visualized the process one more time. It had to work.

It just had to.

 

Daniel didn't have any idea how long he'd been there, but it couldn't have been as long as it felt like. Something must have been in that oil other than whatever made it hot and itchy, because he was so horny he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. The Goa'uld had sucked him off five times already, each time making him come so hard he'd either grayed out or completely lost consciousness. He'd come around the first time to see the man lying next to him, propped on one arm, staring down at him.

Hungrily.

There was a trace of white dried beside the man's mouth. Daniel stared at it, fascinated, then opened his mouth to ask, once more, who the hell the guy was.

A cup was held to his lips before he could form the words, and he swallowed to keep from choking as warmed wine flowed over his tongue. Once he tasted it, he realized he was incredibly thirsty, and he swallowed the rest quickly. It made his head swim.

Might not have been the best idea he'd had in awhile. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. This time when he opened his mouth, a grape was popped past his teeth. He had the choice of chewing and swallowing or choking, again.

The whole tray of finger foods and every last drop of the wine went the same way.

The man fed him with one hand and kept up a continual caressing motion all along his body with the other. Along the side of his neck, down across his chest, playing with a nipple along the way. Down over his ribs, firm enough not to tickle, then along his hip, curving under to play along his buttock, then back to the top of his thigh. Over to his knee, then along the inside of his thigh, until he got to Daniel's testicles.

That's when it became a real task not to inhale something solid and choke to death.

He was mid-strawberry when that hand wove behind his balls and starting playing his perineum like a baby grand. He never knew he had so many erogenous zones in an area he normally only touched to clean himself. Down to his anus, round and round, up to his ball sac, over and under, back down again.

Daniel heard whimpering, and it took him a few minutes to realize it was coming from him.

The oil, combined with the movement of that hand on his body, was making him insane. He writhed on the linen sheets, not sure if he was trying to get away or get closer, only knowing he needed relief. Needed the torment to stop. Or never wanted it to stop. He didn't know which, and didn't know why.

Swallowing down the last of the berry, he tried, one more time, to ask his question. If he could just remember what it was he needed to ask. He knew it was important.

That head bobbed down and that mouth inhaled him again, and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a scream.

The next three times he woke up, it was deja vu all over again. He didn't know whether he was going to expire from exhaustion or just pass out and never wake up again. The Goa'uld had stopped saying anything, partly because his mouth was usually full, and partly because Daniel couldn't have understood him even if he had talked. One word, though, came through clearly, and worried at what was left of Daniel's mind. It was important, if he could just stop **feeling** and be able to **think** long enough to figure out why.

"Beloved."

 

Jack believed, deep inside in the place where things were taken on faith, that Samantha Carter was a miracle worker. If anybody could figure out a way to find Daniel, Sam would be the one. But Jack was also a military man from way back.

He had a Plan B to fall back on.

Like most Plan Bs, it wasn't as good as Plan A. There was a reason why it was a B instead of an A. But if it wasn't quite good enough to figure out **where** Daniel had been taken it was at least good enough to find out by **whom**.

He stared at the small scrap of writing SG-5 had brought back from their most recent mission. Jack had sent out a coded request for help, to be answered, if it was answered, by an information drop on P9D722. Where SG-5 had gone that morning. Returned this afternoon. With what little information the Tok'Ra had been able to give on the mysterious disappearance of one Doctor Jackson.

Jack stared at the name inscribed on the paper, and actually heard the enamel on his teeth crackle as he ground them together. He'd killed her. He knew he'd killed the bitch. He **knew** it.

Marching briskly to the General's office, he rapped once and walked in. Hammond looked up, not surprised at being interrupted. The lack of surprise didn't last long before being overtaken by real surprise, and not a small amount of horror.

"Hathor has him, sir."

"I thought Hathor was dead!" The general actually dropped his pen. Jack could **really** relate.

"Not nearly dead enough." Not yet, at least. When he caught up with the bitch, this time he'd make sure.

As soon as he got Daniel back.

 

Daniel was nearly insensate from sensory overload, and his penis felt like it was going to explode if anyone touched it again. He'd shifted over onto his right side sometime during his sleep, or coma, or whatever one would call the periods of unconsciousness between the bouts of incredible head. His hands were curled into fists, the right one up by his ear, the left against his chest. His right leg was straight, balancing his body, and his left was bent at the knee, curved up in an attempt to keep his painfully sore genitals away from prying hands. Or mouths.

By the time he realized this left his ass completely unprotected, it was much too late.

He felt the bed dip behind him, and a warm wall with at least ten hands swarming over him lay down behind him. Close enough to sear him with its body heat. The hands resolved themselves into two when they finally stopped roaming, and settled on his buttocks. More of that damnedable oil was slicked down over him, and he felt the flesh being parted, probed, stretched.

Too tired to protest, or move for that matter, Daniel buried his face against his right shoulder and waited for it to be over. He was utterly drained, and that relaxation actually helped as he was breached for the very first time. Fullness, heat, strength, the impression of bulk that seemed to go so far into him he could feel it at the back of his throat. Motion, sparks of arousal he'd've thought impossible but felt nonetheless, as that bulk moved over something deep inside him. He moaned.

Couldn't stop moaning.

There wasn't enough fluid left in his body to allow him to come, although the semi-rigidity his abused penis managed did hurt, brushing against the linen. It felt like sandpaper, his skin was so sensitized. It was almost enough to take his mind off what was happening behind him. Almost.

Except that he was liking it. A lot. A fact which paralyzed the few neurons that had managed to survive being fried by the marathon sessions of oral sex earlier.

His hips were moving of their own accord, in part to avoid the now painful scraping of his pitiful excuse for an erection against the sheets, but mainly so he could feel that incredible sensation in his ass. It wasn't just the oil. It was the fact of being fucked. Who'd've guessed.

He never would have.

It felt so good. Vaguely he was aware that the moaning was louder now, that words were mixed up in it. Words like _yes_, and _harder_, and _god_, and _deeper_, and _more_. _Fuck_ _me_ was pretty distinct, and _please_ came up more than once. By the time the man burrowing into his body slammed against him one, two, a third final time and he felt the hot gush of fluid deep within him, Daniel was converted. It was simply incredibly good.

Words were flowing past his own ear, and he gathered all the strength he had left to concentrate on their content. They were marginally more coherent than his own cries, although there was a definite breathlessness that bespoke satiation from both ends of the connection. Then the sense of the words exploded in his brain like a landmine, and all the hazy contentment vanished along with the last ounce of arousal in his system.

"I shall rule the universe, with you by my side, Beloved. With your seed, more children shall come, and My glory shall shine forth again. As it should be, my Beloved."

He knew those words. But it wasn't possible. Forcing the word past a throat gone tight and dry, he whispered, "Hathor?"

The man behind him nuzzled his neck, and Daniel shivered.

"Yes, Beloved."

"How?" Daniel managed to croak out. "You're ... you're ... a man."

A warm chuckle ghosted over his nape, and Daniel stilled completely.

"Did you honestly think the gender of the host determined the Queen?" Daniel had a quick, utterly inappropriate flash to the road scene from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, before the strong grip around his waist brought him back to the nightmare that was his current reality. "Goa'uld do not require clumsy methods of procreation such as wombs and vaginas. Merely the seed of the host." A long lick from that talented tongue between his shoulder blades, and Daniel closed his eyes.

Oh, yeah, Hathor had gotten her ... his ... **it**s seed. As much as Daniel had had to give.

"Why'd you fuck me?" he asked. It hadn't been necessary. Hathor had gotten what she'd ... he'd ... why the hell couldn't English have a gender-neutral personal pronoun, anyway? His mind shied away from the fact that he'd once more been raped for his DNA by concentrating on inanities of language.

"Pleasure, my Beloved. Purely for pleasure."

As the Goa'uld gently disentangled his limbs from Daniel's and climbed off the bed, a tear squeezed from Daniel's tightly-shut eyes. Damn Hathor to hell anyway. Because it had been a pleasure. An incredible pleasure.

For both of them.

 

She didn't quite cry 'Eureka' but Sam came damned close. Janet had actually broken the brain lock a little after three that morning, when she'd reached over Sam's shoulder, tapped the screen and asked, "Shouldn't that be a variant of three? Given the dimensions and the rate?"

Sam would have kissed her, but she was too busy typing. It worked. She checked the numbers one last time, ran the fourth statistical probability count, and headed for the general's office. She didn't even think that he might not be there, since it was the middle of the night. Of course, he was there. She barged in after a cursory knock and waved the print-out in his direction.

"Sir! I've got it! I know where they took him. Whoever they were--"

"Hathor," came Jack's voice from the corner of the office. Sam swung around to face him.

"But ... but ... I thought you killed her?"

"Not dead enough, apparently. But if you can find her, Major, I can damned well do it again." More thoroughly this time, his expression said. He didn't have to say it out loud. She nodded agreement.

"It's a Gate we haven't explored before, one of the oldest on the map, near the edges of the Gate's range. Pretty sparse out there. I think she's hiding."

"Not a surprise, given she was poaching on other Goa'uld's outposts the last time we ran across her. She probably has half the system lords trying to find her, make her pay for stealing their Jaffa." Jack sounded sour as well as tired.

"Like she stole our Daniel."

The three looked at each other for the space of a heartbeat. O'Neill said it best. "Sweet."

"Find him," Hammond ordered quietly. "Fast."

Before there's a whole galaxy of little Goa'uld out there with Daniel's eyes, Sam thought, but also left unsaid.

 

Hathor settled gently into the giant birthing tub. The fluid bubbled around her, steam rising, the smell redolent with the nutrients the young would need to survive until they were placed in hosts. Reaching below the surface of the water, shifting the bulk of male human genitalia out of the way of the birthing opening in the belly of the host, Hathor sighed.

Mating with the Beloved had been as satisfying as the first time, if a trifle unusual. Hathor preferred female hosts, enjoying the lush sensitivity of breast and vagina, but either gender would serve. And the male body had the advantage of defensive strength, as well as being an excellent hiding place. This body was much more difficult to overpower than a female host, and the System Lords would not immediately think to search for Hathor in a male body. It was not the usual choice.

Not to mention the unusual enjoyment of a penis. Hathor stroked the length of flesh, flaccid now under the warm water, and smiled. Daniel had enjoyed it, as well. He had been a virgin, to the second act of love. It had been ... stimulating to partake of that virginity. He had reacted well, strongly, with the innate sensuality that had drawn Hathor to him from the beginning.

A tremor passed along the muscles of the opening in the host's abdomen, and Hathor smiled, eyes closing, head going back. Soon. Soon there would be an army of Jaffa and a multitude of Goa'uld. Soon, with the Beloved one, Hathor would rule.

With no mercy, for any but the Beloved.

 

The attack went with perfect precision and in near-total silence. SG-1, SG-3 and SG-6 rolled through the Gate, SG-1 at point, and took the minimally guarded palace with no casualties. Among the friendlies, anyway.

"Eight Jaffa? That's it?" Jack muttered under his breath, nearly inaudible. Teal'c, of course, heard him.

"Hathor is vastly undermanned," Teal'c responded in a whisper. "Her armies are reduced to the few she can steal from others."

"Others like us," Sam gritted out, then Jack gestured toward the throne room and the second phase of the attack was on.

The group split at the throne room, O'Neill leading SG-1 further into the darkened passageways of the palace while SG-6 took the anterooms to the throne room, and SG-3 guarded the flank and the Gate. Behind them, Jack, Sam and Teal'c heard volleys of automatic weapon fire and the whoosh of flame throwers. Sounds of attack were followed by an unearthly scream, and the unmistakable odor of burning Goa'uld.

"Smells familiar," Jack quipped absently. Neither of his team responded.

Nobody said much of anything.

They'd found the bedroom.

"Oh, Danny-boy," Jack breathed, then moved forward. Daniel was curled up on a bed the size of the Titanic, and both bed and man looked pretty well wrecked. He was naked, covered in bite- and finger-sized bruises, dried sweat and what looked a hell of a lot like semen. Jack put a knee up on the bed, peering down at what he could see of Daniel's face. There were tear tracks along the pale cheeks, and long eyelashes were stuck together in salty clumps.

"That bitch!" Jack hissed. Daniel responded, waking up suddenly and trying to either scramble off the bed or curl into a ball. That's when they saw the chains.

Sam didn't say a word, just ran to the opposite side of the bed and pulled at the chain, trying to figure out how to get Daniel loose. Jack put a hand on the quivering shoulder hunched into the pillows.

"Hang on, Daniel, we'll get you out of this," he said as reassuringly as he could. How, he didn't know, but they would. The shivering eased a fraction.

"Jack?" Tear-clogged, rusty, sounded like he'd blown his voice out. Probably screaming. Jack closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and patted Daniel's shoulder gently.

"Yeah, buddy. Hang on."

Sam looked up at Jack with frustration on her face. "It's pretty solid, sir," she growled, pulling at the chain. Daniel's left hand was yanked up by the pressure, and Sam let go of the chain quickly. "Sorry about that, Daniel."

"This will assist you in your effort," Teal'c put in suddenly, taking up a small object from the table by the door and striding over to the bed. He held out what looked like a stubby hatpin to Sam, whose face lit up.

"Excellent!" She took it from him and started rooting around in the tiny hole on the left cuff. Daniel stared dully off into the distance. Jack watched a slow blush rise along the side of Daniel's neck, and reached out to pull up the cover, belatedly realizing the man might like a little privacy. His hand collided with Teal'c's.

Looking up quickly, he noted an unusual look on Teal'c's face. The dark eyes were wide, fixed on Daniel's body, and they looked slightly glazed. Jack tore his eyes away from Teal'c and determinedly pulled the cover up. He wasn't going to go there. He just wasn't.

Although he had to admit, pissed as he was at Hathor, Jack had to admire her taste.

The cuff gave with a slight squeal, covered by Sam's hissed, "Yessss!" Daniel didn't say anything, just offered his right hand for the same treatment.

From the doorway, Jack heard running footsteps. He looked up at Teal'c, who by this time seemed able to look away from Daniel. Jack jerked his head toward the door. He didn't have to say a word. Teal'c took off toward the door at a controlled run, and blocked any view from the hall. There was a muffled report, and Teal'c's clear, "Yes, we have Daniel Jackson. Is Hathor neutralized?"

"He's deader than a doornail, up in flames," Hodges, commander of SG-6, reported. Jack snorted, mentally. Yeah, he'd thought the same thing. A couple of times. First fire, then ice, now fire again. Then he thought back over Hodges' words.

He?

**HE**?

Jack looked back at Daniel.

Oh, fuck.

Then Sam cracked the second cuff, Teal'c came back to report that SG-6 was joining SG-3 at the Gate and waiting for them, there were clothes to round up, Daniel to support, and a final run for the Gate.

Jack very carefully didn't think at all, all the way home.

He especially didn't think about how good Daniel felt, tight up against his side, arm around his waist, head against his shoulder. He wasn't going to go there, goddamnit.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

Not if he could help it.

 

The briefing was long and unpleasant, but not as long and unpleasant as the physical exam. Doctor Fraiser was nothing if not thorough. Thankfully, she was also gentle, understanding, and extremely discreet.

Daniel sat in the control room, empty now, since it was the middle of the night. He stared at the Stargate.

So many things had happened to him since this had all begun. He'd learned so much, about other cultures, other peoples, other worlds. There had been a lot of horrible along with the wonderful, but he'd learned to separate the bad from the good, learned to accept knowledge regardless of the cost and keep the wonder of that knowledge separate from the pain of its gaining.

Even when that knowledge was about himself. Perhaps, especially when that knowledge was about himself.

He shifted on the hard seat, cautious in his movements. It would take a few days for his body to recover. Much longer for his emotions to recover.

He wasn't sure if his mind would ever fully recover. He wasn't sure if this particular knowledge was worth the pain it had cost. Was even less sure if it was worth the pleasure it had cost.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him interrupted his increasingly confused thoughts. "You okay, Daniel?"

Jack. One of the few constants in his life. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Wanna talk about it?" Hesitant, but sincere.

"Not now. Maybe later."

Maybe never.

Maybe in a few days. When his body had recovered. Or a few months, when he was more emotionally stable. Stray thoughts whispered at him, memories played, nerve endings prickled. Bulk was replaced with more compact muscle, hatred with friendship, rape with respect.

Okay, maybe sooner rather than later.

Daniel smiled at the Stargate. Jack came further into the room and stopped at his shoulder. They stayed there for a very long time. "Whatcha looking at?" he asked finally.

"Myself," Daniel said, very softly. Jack's hand came up and rested, lightly, on his shoulder.

Daniel let it rest.

 

Light green eyes stared at the ruins of her plans one final time. Stepping over the charred body of her previous host, the slim young woman stepped from the shadows of the gutted palace and walked, alone, toward the Stargate. In her wake trailed the few household servants still remaining, and two lone Jaffa who'd survived the attack.

It would take time. Cunning. Resolve. Eventually, she would find her way back from hiding to a position of strength. Then she would have her revenge on those who would thwart her and, once again, take her Beloved.

 

_FIN_


End file.
